


Mamabear

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 22:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5643496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boromir confronts Aragorn on treating Faramir well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mamabear

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “An AU where Boromir lives and post Ring War Aragorn and Faramir get together, I want to see Boromir being super overprotective of his little brother and all, "I don't care if you're my king if you hurt him you will regret it dearly, I will make sure of that."” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2320.html?thread=3577104#t3577104).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s glad, of course, that Gondor is in good enough shape to excuse its king and prince for a few days. More than he’s willing to admit, Boromir enjoys his rule in their stead. He was born to be the steward of Gondor, and he has as much power now as he would’ve then, only _better_ —the city is mostly rebuilt and already flourishing, no longer under threat of war, and it has wise, _good_ men to keep it that way. He still wants them to come _home_.

And he wants a word with King Elessar, the friend that traveled all this way with him, only to sweep away his little brother. Boromir spent a good chunk of his life protecting Faramir, and old habits die hard.

He goes to the stables himself when he gets word of their return, even though it’s late at night and the rest of the city sleeps. Boys will be roused in the stables to see to the returning horses. Boromir isn’t surprised when he arrives to find Faramir already there, petting the muzzle of his steed as it’s lead away. The motion causes the sleeve of his tunic to fall back, revealing a red line around his pale wrist that’s become all too common. In the low light of the sconces, Boromir wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t looking for it. When he approaches, Faramir quickly lowers his hand and tugs down his sleeve. 

He greets, smiling bright as the sun, “Boromir.” Boromir finds himself grinning back and continues moving, until they’re both locked in a tight hug. Faramir wasn’t gone long, but Boromir squeezes him close all the same. Faramir is the most precious thing in Boromir’s world. 

When they part, Boromir asks, “How was your journey?”

“Wonderful,” Faramir laughs, just as Boromir expected. They’d gone to one of their old hideouts—a place Faramir’s rangers used to hide in the days when their father sent him away on suicide runs to the outskirts of Mordor. Perhaps there was more restoring to do, just in case the spot is needed in the future, or perhaps Aragorn just wanted yet another excuse to ferry Boromir’s beloved brother away from Boromir’s protective watch. If Faramir appeared any less happy, Boromir would hold him here, take his arm and demand he tell the truth. 

But Boromir can see that Faramir is telling that, and Faramir is so, so wildly _happy_ , after all the years Denethor drowned him in self-doubt and sorrow. So Boromir smiles and lets Faramir brush past him, back to the castle. At the door, he pauses, turns, and calls, “Are you coming?”

“In a moment,” Boromir returns. “I wish a word with our king.”

A flicker of worry flashes over Faramir’s face, and he asks, “Is Gondor well?”

“Wonderful,” Boromir recounts, and Faramir snorts and grins again, disappearing through the door. It leaves Boromir’s frown to fall back into place. He already knows to which rooms his little brother is heading, and he wants to make sure he has a word with the man who will soon follow.

Boromir doesn’t need to wait for Aragorn to emerge. He knows the odd bond that Aragorn’s grown with his horse, and so Boromir walks to the end and around the corner of the stables, along the other line of stalls, until he finds Aragorn indeed tucked into one, gently patting his horse’s neck. When Boromir’s close enough, Aragorn greets as pleasantly as ever, “Boromir.”

Boromir doesn’t have the right words to answer—he’s still thinking of what to say.

But Aragorn doesn’t wait. He gives his horse a final pat and turns to leave the stall, brushing past Boromir, until Boromir grabs his elbow to halt him. Aragorn stills instantly, looking back, and Boromir growls fiercer than he means to, “You have ferried away my little brother again. I do not care if you are my king. If I _ever_ find out you have hurt him, I promise you will regret it dearly.”

Aragorn frowns, but Boromir expected no less. For a moment, they stare at one another, and then Aragorn jerks his arm free but doesn’t move away. Instead, he insists, just as gravelly, “I would never do that. I truly love him, and I thought you knew that.”

“You can still hurt people you love,” Boromir quips. A wiser man might back down, but Boromir can’t stop himself from making it very clear that Faramir deserves nothing but the best, always. Then he thinks of the bruise around Faramir’s wrist, not the first one he’s seen, and the fire races back into him. He hisses, “I have seen the bruises he wears.” Aragorn’s gaze hardens, and Boromir pushes, “Did you tie him? You claim you love him, yet if I discover you have harmed him—”

“I would not,” Aragorn interrupts. Boromir opens his mouth, but Aragorn raises a hand and presses on, “I assure you, we are both very capable rangers. But if you have only looked at _Faramir’s_ wrists...” Then Aragorn pauses, and the anger seeps away, so that he says with almost a hint of laughter in his eyes, “I assure you, on the days when Faramir catches me first, _he_ is the one to do the tying.”

Boromir’s cheeks flush. He knows the implication. He so rarely thinks of Faramir as the adult he is, but rather the small, timid child he once was, hiding behind Boromir and clinging to his legs. Aragorn holds Boromir’s eyes a moment longer, and Boromir dully repeats, “My threat stands.”

Aragorn smiles, nods, then answers, “And if I were to hurt him, I would deserve your wrath. But I doubt it would ever come to that—you would jump in before I could. You haven’t stopped protecting him since you set foot back in this land.”

Boromir can feel his cheeks heating again. It’s true, but he’d tried to be subtle and hadn’t thought anyone would notice. Of course he watches over Faramir. It’s his duty. 

Unfortunately, he knows that even he can’t protect Faramir from bedroom games, even the rough ones. Aragorn finally turns away and begins walking again. 

Boromir sighs, then falls into step. They’ve just reached the door when Boromir blurts, “Do not tie the knots too tightly.”

Aragorn, his hand on the latch, sighs, and turns to say, “I tie nothing he could not get out of with true effort. ...But to be honest, my friend, I think he enjoys making a show of squirming.” Aragorn dares to grin, and Boromir glares. Then Aragorn laughs and darts through the door and up the steps, Boromir barreling after with more warnings on his tongue.


End file.
